


Never Letting Go

by Lotto95



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23716873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotto95/pseuds/Lotto95
Summary: Plot? Timelines? Never heard of them. I just wanted them to kiss. Set somewhere in 3x01.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 130





	Never Letting Go

The door opens, and Eve reminds herself that she should have locked it. She could put it down to forgetting, but if she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t really care.

It shuts softly. Eve sits up in bed, only in a pair of pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. She turns off the tv with a click of the remote and grabs her phone. It’s a little past 1am, but with no one to call she places the phone back on the bedside table.

“Who’s there?” she calls out. “I’m armed.”

“No you are not,” a distinct Russian accent says.

The door to her bedroom is ajar and Eve’s focus glues to the little gap. Stiff and clutching onto the cover that she’s pulled against her chest, Eve does nothing more than wait for it to open. She should have known Villanelle would find her eventually. That this chase between them hasn’t ended.

When the door creaks, Eve swallows and again glances to her phone. There is no one who would come to help her and no one she would willing put in danger anyway. “Come to finish the job?” Eve asks, trying to put a bit of gusto behind her voice.

It doesn’t really carry, but it makes her feel braver nonetheless. Before Villanelle can see her huddling beneath her bed cover, she slides her legs out and stands up. The door swings open at the same moment and her worst nightmare and biggest fantasy stands confidently in the doorway. Villanelle slides her hands into her pockets and smirks.

“It’s good to see you,” she says.

Their eyes meet and hold, the sincerity in her voice unexpected. Then Villanelle’s gaze surveys the room, taking in the empty take-out boxes and wine bottles. Villanelle scrunches up her nose and sort of shrugs, stepping over a pile of dirty clothes on the ground to come a little closer. “Though the circumstances could be better, I’ll admit.”

“Better?” Eve voices cracks, and Villanelle looks up sharply.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Eve.”

She doesn’t look any different, here in a navy suit looking like the pinnacle of perfection. The contrast to the room, to _herself,_ is apparent, but Eve can’t find it in herself to care. Her life was destroyed, so she’s living within the mess and doesn’t intend to clean it up anytime soon.

“I thought you were—” Villanelle shakes her head then tries to smile. “I wanted to see you.”

“Get out,” Eve says.

Neither of them move. Eve doesn’t expect her to listen, but it felt good to say it, to have the courage to end this, once and for all. No second chances.

Villanelle walks around the room, but Eve sidesteps and walks to the opposite side. She examines the photos on the windowsill, runs her finger along one. “Classy,” she says. “But don’t you want something more than this?”

“Get. Out.”

Eve stands impossibly still, face expressionless, identical to Villanelle’s during their last moments together.

Stopping rummaging, Villanelle turns to her with a sincere expression. “I don’t know why I did it,” she whispers and lowers her eyes. But Eve knows better than to fall for her games, the acts she puts on to make you believe she cares and can feel and won’t hurt you like you’re an exception.

Villanelle lifts her head and makes eye contact. Their gazes hold and it causes tiny tremors to run all over Eve’s body. She’s running hot and cold, not sure if she wants Villanelle gone from her life for good or for her to re-light the spark she’s been missing since Rome.

“Villanelle.”

“Eve.”

“I said. Get. Out.”

Villanelle shakes her head, “No.”

“Get out.”

“No.”

“Get. Out.”

Villanelle smirks as if this is a game. “No.”

Eve’s hand reaches for something, anything, finding only an empty Styrofoam takeout tray, and flings it across the room. _“Get out!”_ It lands at Villanelle’s feet, who only looks down at it and sighs.

Eve’s stomach clenches. “Get out,” she repeats, a broken record, but she doesn’t know what else to say. Next, she flings a water bottle. “Get out.” Then an empty coke can that hits Villanelle’s shoulder before clanking to the ground.

Villanelle’s lips pinch together as she moves a few steps away, hands out as if in surrender, but Eve is so far from that point, so she continues, grabs pointless wrappers that only fall to the ground after being thrown, repeats herself over and over again, throws her phone and a wine bottle that Villanelle scrambles to catch before it smashes.

“Eve!”

The bottle gets flung onto the bed with a heavy sigh. Eve ignores her, gets her pillow and pulls it behind her shoulder. Villanelle shakes her head and chuckles softly. Eve clenches her hands around the material and hits it against her target. Villanelle stiffens, takes a few blows to the chest and arms, lets Eve use her like a punching bag.

Eve’s hair falls messily and sticks to the sweat on her forehead. “ _Get out!”_

When she aims, she hits the arms that Villanelle has moved to defend herself. “Eve.” She ducks out of the way of the next blow. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Eve looks up. The pillow slips from her fingers. With the last residue of rage, she pushes against Villanelle’s shoulders. She stumbles slightly. Eve pushes again, but Villanelle reaches out and grabs onto Eve’s upper arms, squeezing and holding her in place.

At first, she struggles, but the fight withers. Eve’s eyes slowly lift, fill and she whispers, “Get out,” in a last-ditch attempt to have control.

Her throat tightens, her eyes growing blurry until wetness settles on her cheeks, but all she can do is let the tears fall. She feels like an idiot, even more so when Villanelle’s face softens, and a hand settles on her cheek.

Eve’s chest shudders once, and it takes everything within herself not to lean into the touch.

“Calm down first,” she says. “Then I’ll go, okay?”

Eve can’t tell whether it’s a lie meant to placate her, but it works. Villanelle doesn’t listen or take orders from anyone, yet the agreement makes her feel like she’s still special. The last time she thought that she ended up with a bullet wound, but even she can’t seem to remember that when Villanelle comes closer to wrap Eve up in her arms.

There are no words, just arms that tighten around her body. With her damp cheek on Villanelle’s shoulder she feels like the biggest fool, but after months of being alone and feeling the ripple effects of pushing everyone away, all she wants is a moment to rest. To take a break from her own mind.

Eve goes to ask her if she’s going to apologise and remembers a similar conversation. It makes her wrap one arm around Villanelle to hug her back, the other sliding under her shirt until she finds the scar. Goosebumps rise under her tracing fingers, the arms around her tightening, and Villanelle’s breath comes out ragged.

“Why didn’t you hate me?” Eve asks, voice a little stuffy.

The only answer she receives is silence. Then Villanelle says, “We are the same.” It’s a non-answer, but enough of one Eve doesn’t ask twice.

And it seems more like it every day. She still has nightmares about Rome; Raymond or the ruins, sometimes she’s on the receiving end of the axe, sometimes it’s Villanelle she uses it on. She doesn’t know which is worse. Eve hums, the closest thing to an agreement, but she can hardly deny it with a scar on her back and one beneath her fingers.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Villanelle whispers, the warm breath on her neck causing Eve to shiver.

Villanelle’s hands flatten on Eve’s back and move in small circles. They travel downwards, stopping at her lower back. Eve sinks into her, eyes falling closed. She can deny it, but it feels good and she’s too tired to pretend otherwise.

On a deep breath Eve pulls away slowly, wanting more, not sure if she’s lost her mind completely or if this was always going to happen. Villanelle looks into her eyes, strands of hair loose from her braid sticking up like static. Her gaze flickers down once before they move closer.

When their lips touch, Eve gasps and melts into her. Villanelle’s lips are surprisingly soft, it’s nice, different than kissing men – she wasn’t sure, Villanelle was the first woman to turn her head, but her body easily responds, the hand on the scar moving to grip onto Villanelle’s hip. They kiss slowly, gently, not at all like the frenzy she sometimes imagined. The moment when she would give in and allow her desires to consume her.

This is nothing like that. This is soft. Her head tips in the opposite direction to Villanelle’s, the kiss deepening, growing steadily. It feels like the only apology she is likely to get. Her nose brushes Villanelle’s when she comes up for air, but after a second, Eve leans back in and kisses her again. Just for a moment, Eve wants to get lost in the feel of her.

Villanelle’s arms wrap around her back and she tugs her closer. Their chests press together, then a hand snakes upwards, into Eve’s hair, Villanelle’s fingers gripping into it. Eve kisses her harder, fingers grasping onto Villanelle’s blazer. A tongue dabs against Eve’s lips and she lets her lips part, allowing it to slip into her mouth.

She lets Villanelle explore for as long as she wants, the flare inside her stomach heating up. Their tongues press together, causing a soft moan to leave Eve’s chest. She wants more, loops a leg around Villanelle’s and almost presses herself down. But the image of dragging her to bed sobers her. The little voice demanding she stop grows louder, telling her this is the worst idea she’s ever had, and although this kiss is glorious, she pulls away, ignoring the hand that slips from her hair and how badly she wants it back there.

Their chests pant in unison, but Eve doesn’t lean back in. She puts a hand on Villanelle’s shoulder and keeps her eyes down. “You need to leave,” she says, and the arm slips from around her waist, allowing her to move backwards.

Eve’s fingers press lightly against her lips, a frown on her face whilst she contemplates what possessed her to give in after all this time. She looks up and meets Villanelle’s eyes, understanding passing between them.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Eve.”

All Eve can do is nod, because it’s true for both of them whether she wants to admit it or not. Villanelle reaches out and squeezes her hand, the warmth pressing against her fingers almost making her drag Villanelle to bed just so she has someone to wake up to.

The warmth vanishes and Villanelle takes a step backwards. “I’ll be back,” she says, creeping towards the door. There’s a hint of a smirk before she turns around. 

Villanelle leaves her room, leaves her life and leaves her mind spinning. She almost calls out to her, tired of being lonely and tired of being someone she no longer recognises, but she lets her go, the tingling of her lips making her realise that there’s no escaping the pull the other has, that they always were and always will be, inevitable.


End file.
